


In the Impala

by Moorishflower



Series: A Cold Academic Hell [22]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not to brag about it or anything, but Dean's made out with a lot of people in his car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Impala

Dean ends up spending a lot of time at Castiel’s house. The place is nice, secluded, and far enough away from campus and his own apartment that Dean doesn’t worry about being seen by any of his classmates, or worse, his brother. Lately, though, he’s been considering…well. Should he tell Sam? He knows Sam has been keeping something from _him_ , although he has yet to figure out what. Maybe if he just came out and told Sam about Castiel, it would…he doesn’t know. Encourage his brother to tell the truth?

Dean grunts as he slides himself out from under the ancient Volkswagen in Bobby’s garage, hands and parts of his face smeared with grease. Then again, when do plans like that ever actually work out the way you want them to? Maybe it would be better to just keep quiet for a little while longer, see what happens.

“Christ, you look like you just struck oil.”

Dean snorts, groping for the rag that Ellen is handing to him. Bobby, who has proclaimed on multiple occasions that his immune system is better than every Olympic athlete’s put together, is resting inside the house, sick with a cold. Ellen and Jo are in charge in his absence, and Dean feels the lack of testosterone keenly. He’s not about to complain about it, though. Ellen will kick his ass six ways from Sunday if he does.

Dean wipes his face, succeeding, mostly, in smearing the grease around. “Yeah, I get it, I’m gross.”

“Nah, just filthy. Come on over to the sink, get some of that crap off of you. You seen Jo anywhere?”

Dean shrugs. “She hasn’t really been talking to me since…”

“ _Ah_.” Ellen frowns slightly, hauling Dean by the elbow over to the garage’s single, ancient sink. “Since that fellow of yours.”

“Castiel, yeah. But don’t…”

“Don’t tell no one, I heard you the first dozen times you said it. You really ought to consider telling your brother, though. It’s not healthy to keep secrets.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, and sticks his hands under the faucet as Ellen turns the tap. Cold water comes gushing out, and Dean flinches as it splashes against his skin. “ _Shit_. You couldn’t have turned it to warm?”

“I would have, but that would imply that I give a crap about your delicate skin. Stop being a wilting flower and wish that gunk off your hands.”

Dean huffs, but does as he’s told. “Is it four yet?”

“Four-thirty, actually. Half hour of overtime isn’t so bad.”

“Not so bad at all,” Dean agrees, scrubbing the grease from his fingers, then from his palms. The soap he’s using smells like orange candy, too sweet to be real. “There a reason no one told me the time?”

“You looked like you were thinking. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“I guess.” Dean pulls his hands out from under the faucet and turns off the tap, then shakes his hands to get the majority of the water off them. “I was just thinking about Cas.”

“You gonna start writing his name in your notebook? With little hearts around it?”

Dean laughs. “Honestly? Sometimes it feels that way. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this for anyone.”

“Not even Lisa?”

He glances away, clearing his throat. “Not…not even Lisa. She wanted me to be something I wasn’t. Castiel just wants me to be happy. I mean, he wants me to do well, you know, in school and stuff, but he doesn’t push me. It’s weird, having someone who likes me but doesn’t…want to change me.”

“Welcome to a healthy relationship. Now the million dollar question is, are _you_ going to stick with it?”

“Me? I…”

“Don’t give me those cow eyes, Dean Winchester. I know how you feel about commitment.”

Dean turns away, uncomfortable. He dries his hands on the knees of his jeans, which succeeds more in dirtying them again than it does in drying them. He can feel Ellen’s scowl against the back of his head.

“Don’t look at me like that, Ellen,” he says pleadingly. “I just don’t even know, okay? I like him. I _really_ like him, but what if we have to move again? What if…I don’t know, some bank in California offers me the job of a lifetime? I can’t predict the future.”

“Don’t you think it’s time you gave it a chance, though?”

Dean rubs his cheek, smearing grease across his palm. He turns back towards the Volkswagen, reading to get it down off the ramp.

There’s a figure standing next to the car, hands in his pockets, wearing a corduroy jacket but nothing heavier than that. Dean squints. “Cas?”

Castiel spins around to face him, expression brightening almost immediately. “Dean. I was in the area, and I thought, perhaps, I would visit. I hope I am not being too…”

Dean grins as Ellen says, “Honey, you’re not being too _anything_. You want a glass of water or something? You look a bit flushed.”

“It is cold outside,” Castiel says. “I walked a ways to get here.”

Dean frowns, reaching for Castiel’s hand. Their fingers curl together. “Why don’t you have your car?”

“I thought a walk would clear my head. I suppose I did not realize how far I strayed.”

Dean makes a soft noise, bringing Castiel’s hand to his mouth and resting his lips against Castiel’s knuckles. “Come on,” he murmurs. “I’ll drive you home. Ellen, can you clock me out?”

“No problem, hon. You two have fun now.”

Castiel tilts his head to the side as Dean glances down, his cheeks hot. Hopefully not hot enough to see. He grips Castiel’s hand and pulls him away from Ellen, who continues to smirk after them long after they’ve vanished from sight. Dean is too busy focusing on Castiel to notice that, a moment later, Ellen is no longer alone.

“You’ve been giving that boy a hard time,” Ellen says quietly. Jo looks away, scuffing her foot against the garage’s cement floor.

“I didn’t want to…you know, see him.”

“Because of Castiel?”

Jo nods. “I sort of thought that, as long as I don’t have to look at them together, that maybe…”

Ellen smiles knowingly. “You’ll still have a chance?”

“Yeah. But they’re happy, aren’t they?”

“As pigs in mud. Or they will be, as soon as Dean gets his head out of his ass.”

Jo laughs. “That’s always been his problem, hasn’t it? He’s got so many issues…I don’t know how I ever thought he was perfect.”

“Young love will do that to you. Now come on, there’s a Caddy coming in in about fifteen and I want some help working on it.”

~

Dean drives Castiel home; it’s cold outside, and Castiel isn’t exactly dressed for a long walk, contrary to his story about going out for some air…but then, Castiel can be kind of eccentric sometimes, so there’s more than just a passing possibility that he’s telling the truth.

The Impala, though, is warm, and Castiel puts his hands right up next to the heater, his fingers slightly curled. The windows are beginning to cloud over. Dean turns on the defogger. “So, what were you really doing out there?”

Castiel draws his hands back to himself, pressing them briefly against his mouth, as though to test their heat. He seems satisfied, because he lowers them to his lap and blinks owlishly at Dean.

“I wanted to take a walk.”

“That the real reason? It’s like, twenty degrees out, Cas.”

“I enjoy it when you call me that.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Castiel purses his lips, and then sighs. “I…thought to visit you.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, however the distance was greater than I had anticipated.”

“And the reason why you’re not wearing a proper jacket is…?”

“I was. I came across a gentlemen on the street whose need for it eclipsed mine.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters. “I’m dating a philanthropist. It wasn’t the trench coat, was it?”

“No. That coat was a gift, I would not give it away.”

Dean breathes a sigh of relief. “Well, at least that other guy was happy.”

“He was quite thankful. I urged him to visit the soup kitchen in order to procure himself a hot meal.”

Dean laughs softly as he turns into the driveway of Castiel’s house. All the windows are dark. No one else is home, and there’s no other car for Dean to maneuver around as he parks. Gabriel is still gone. “You want me to just drop you off?”

Castiel is plucking at the cuffs of his jacket. He looks indecisive. “Cas?” Abruptly, Castiel strips the jacket off, pulling his arms from the sleeves and letting the corduroy fall, discarded, around his waist. He leans forward, over the gear stick, and rests one hand on Dean’s thigh, the other on his shoulder.

“I think I would like to remain here for the time being,” he breathes, and then leans up, pressing his mouth to Dean’s, and he tastes like snow, crisp and cold, and something crackling and bright like electricity. Dean hums, surprised and pleased, and winds his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, burying one of his hands in Castiel’s hair. He twists his fingers in the dark strands, tugging slightly, pulling Castiel’s head back. Castiel goes with the pressure, letting his neck arch, his mouth wet, pink. Dean presses a soft kiss to the pale expanse of his throat, opens his mouth and touches his tongue to the soft flicker of Castiel’s pulse. “Is this okay,” he murmurs, and Castiel murmurs, “Yes, _yes_.” Dean sucks a mark into the fragile skin of Castiel’s neck, below the line of his collar, easily hidden, and Castiel’s soft words turn into indistinguishable hums of desire.

“Invite me in,” Dean whispers. He drags one hand from Castiel’s neck to the curve of his waist, tucks his thumb into the waist of Castiel’s slacks. “Will you invite me in?”

Castiel touches his hand, pulls it away. Their fingers curl together, and Dean leans back. There’s a dark bruise on Castiel’s collar. Dean wants to touch it, to focus on it. That’s _his_.

“No,” Castiel says softly. “Not yet.” He raises Dean’s hand to his mouth, kisses the knuckles and lets his lips linger on the skin.

“Why not?”

“You’re not ready.”

Dean presses his thumb to Castiel’s bottom lip, pulling it down. Soft. “This is hardly my first rodeo, you know.”

Castiel smiles at him. “I know. Indulge me, please.”

Dean shifts, uncomfortable. He wants to adjust himself, but he also doesn’t want to move just yet. “I…if you say so, Cas.”

“This is not a reflection upon my desire for you.” Castiel takes Dean’s hand, rests it low on his belly, and Dean shudders. _Oh_. “I _do_ want you, but now is not the time.”

“But you’ll let me know when the right time is, won’t you?”

Castiel leans forward, kissing the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Of course, Dean.” Then, letting go of Dean’s hand, Castiel gropes for the door handle, gathering his jacket up with his other hand. He slips outside while Dean is still trying to figure out what, exactly, is happening, and then leans close to the window and lets his fingertips hover barely an inch away, but never touching. Dean holds his hand up, presses it against the glass, and Castiel follows suit a moment later. He imagines he can feel Castiel’s heat.

“Good bye,” Castiel says, voice muffled, and then he takes his hand away, and Dean watches him as he turns and walks up the pathway to the front door. He pulls a key out of the pocket of his jacket, and then, with a final wave in the direction of the Impala, he vanishes inside the house.

Dean is left sitting alone in his car, and yet, strangely, he feels as though he doesn’t regret a single moment of his day. Grinning, he adjusts his jeans and restarts the car. He will sleep well tonight.


End file.
